


regeneration sickness

by bossxtweed



Series: A Study in Time Lord Parenting [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Family, Fluff, mentions the murder-suicide at the end of the doctor falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossxtweed/pseuds/bossxtweed
Summary: Fresh off a ship which had been hovering dangerously over a black hole, the freshly regenerated Master plays around with their loom and creates a child.
Series: A Study in Time Lord Parenting [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776127
Kudos: 14





	regeneration sickness

the more they think about it, the further away the face of their attacker seems to become and the more their back screams for loss of blood, the fatal blow having been delivered by someone with _experience_ and absolutely _zero_ qualms against hiding the attack with an embrace. in the back of their mind: the awful nagging feeling associated with a _paradox._ funny that, though. the last person they could remember seeing was the _doctor,_ wasn’t it? the past several years had blurred together and they couldn’t remember anything besides wearing a mask and wig to disguise themselves (another case in which they sincerely regretted having been prime minister---no matter _where_ or _when_ they’d been on earth in that form, it **_always_ **attracted unwanted attention).

they made it back to their tardis before the regeneration took full effect.

laughing, spinning, twirling through the corridors, the master sheds their coat somewhere between the library and the pool, having yet to see their own reflection (though they were _definitely_ shorter, and their voice sounded familiar, as if they had chosen it to _match_ someone else’s), and in their delirium, they feel as though they are floating, their feet hardly touching the ground. they _should have_ evacuated, given the amount of damage their regeneration energy had caused on the central console, but _something_ had brought them to this room.

centuries prior, they had asked the doctor about it.

 _‘i_ **_destroyed_ ** _it,’_ had been the response.

a _relic,_ something from their shared home world.

_a way of creating new time lords._

they catch their reflection in the loom’s exterior glass surface and immediately raise one hand to play with their curls---- _curls!_ thick and dark and _everywhere,_ soft yet currently _covered_ in soot---and with their other hand playfully tap a few buttons, not thinking anything of it. the display flashes on, but it’s blurry. _this is just a_ **_game,_ ** they think, pressing more of the buttons; _just like when theta and I snuck off at the academy…….._

the pair of them had gotten away with _quite_ a lot, the master reflects, by now twirling an index finger through their hair---and they had _so much of it_ now! shampooing would take longer, and drying, and they would need to learn how to style it (it would only get in the way while running otherwise), only the loom is beeping now, trying to get their attention, and they squint at the display.

_wha’ does it want now?_

‘dna sample required,’ reads the circular gallifreyan text. ‘please place hand on the scanner.’

they drop their hand onto the scanner and giggle as it pricks their palm. “naughty,” they chide, turning away as the loom begins to work, creating a child from their dna. “there are supposed to be _no more_ of us.”

they sink onto the floor, lay down on their stomach, and fold their arms under their head, falling into a regenerative coma. golden threads of energy drift from their lips as they exhale. this body, brand new, is smaller, and in many other ways different from what they are used to. wretched memories plague them as they sleep, causing one eye to twitch and etching a frown on their lips. 

_they had_ **_liked_ ** _bill, but converting her had been all-too-easy as a means of torturing the doctor----and their plan had seemed to_ **_work,_ ** _with a hospital full of partial-converts and their future self in tow----but none of that had stuck in their memory. tricky thing, time. always repairing itself, erasing foreknowledge and taking care of paradoxes, bringing death in its wake._

_acting as death’s champion had never been an easy task._

blue eyes and dark curls and sharp cheekbones grow ever-more distorted the longer they think about it until their attacker becomes someone faceless---though it is a _familiar_ face, the one they’d seen in the loom’s glass surface.

 _“you’ve gotten the full blast!” they exclaimed, triumphantly. self-destruction was always an easy task, and the knowledge of the doctor dying_ **_alone_ ** _had only made them all-the-more giddy._

 _joy born of suffering, even their own, had them laughing----the_ **_younger_ ** _version of them, that is. the older time lord’s laughs were full of pain and sorrow and---if they were thinking about it correctly---immense_ **_regret._ **

_speaking through the pain, the woman used her last breath to say, “take good care of her.” no name, no context, just the dying wish of a parent who wanted more than anything to turn back the hands of time and once more hold their daughter in their arms._

_“take care of_ **_who?!”_ ** _the master snapped, by now unable to stop it as their hands began glowing. “answer me,_ **_dammit!”_ **

_the elevator took them away before the woman could answer. the last they saw of her was the tell-tale glow of regeneration energy._

flashing lights, erratic beeping from the loom, and a sharp, piercing cry serve to wake them up, forcing them out of their reverie and into their disorienting reality--- _why_ was their tardis yelling at them so? had the console room repaired itself? _i can check you out_ **_later,_ ** _love---would you cut that out? all the lights----_

forcing themself to stand, the master blinks as all the lights cut out except for one, and they move towards it, their breath catching in their throat as they regard the loom. inside, a tiny infant squirms and cries. their parent’s eyes widen at the sight--- **_what_ ** _have i done?---_ and they spare the briefest of glances at their palm before diving into the nearby bins and pulling out a soft yellow blanket.

“‘s’alrigh’, love,” they tap a few buttons, open the glass, and scoop the child up, wrapping her firmly in the blanket. “you’re so _little,”_ they can’t help but giggle as they bounce the child gently in their arms. “and y’ need a _name,_ yea?”

they can’t remember the last time they held an infant in their arms, though something tells them it had been a _friend’s_ child and not their own---the high council had tried to stop them from having children, having claimed it was to _protect_ future generations from inheriting the horrible racket which constantly resounded in their mind. 

with the lights no longer flashing, a sharp pain blossoms on one side of the master’s head, momentarily blacking out their vision, and they shut their eyes. _inhale,_ there’s a warmth to the room that hadn’t been there before, _exhale,_ their baby is no longer crying and is instead staring up at them with wide eyes. she has warm brown skin, brown eyes, and a shock of dark brown hair and she feels so _fragile._

 _it would be_ **_so easy_ ** _to hurt her,_ the thought appears out of nowhere and they recoil. _but i_ **_won’t---_ ** _she’s just so_ **_small…_ **

time lord names are pompous and overdone. children are not _assigned_ titles, though once they’ve gone through initiation some of them are inclined to _choose_ one, differentiating themselves from their peers (and the whole wretched society of gallifrey----which, speaking of, they make a mental note to check in on the rest of the deca. surely _some of them_ escaped before the worst of the time war). their mind whirs for several moments as they pace the room, bouncing the little girl in their arms.

“name, name, what’s in a name!” they sing-song.

the horrible, wretched feeling from the paradox fades away and in its place shines love as they breathe, “how about _genevieve,_ love? yea? geni, geni, geni love……” 

they break out in a fit of giggles and dance around the room, bouncing the girl in their arms.


End file.
